


Barbs

by historymiss



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:41:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24996301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/historymiss/pseuds/historymiss
Summary: '“Is this the part where the nun gives me relationship advice?” Camilla’s voice is full of barbs, catching on her throat because Harrow knows this is not something that they should be talking about, or thinking, ever.'Harrow and Camilla try very hard not to have a Feelings Conversation in the space between Gideon running off to Palamedes and Dulcinea, and mostly fail.Written for the wonderful necromanticatheart, my very favourite Sixth House stan. Sorry I keep hurting you with fic.
Relationships: Camilla Hect/Palamedes Sextus, Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 5
Kudos: 72





	Barbs

Harrow watches her cavalier lope off into the darkness without a second look, and while _”Nav!”_ goes some way towards expressing the sheer exasperation and- yes- fear currently doing an unpleasant dance in her stomach, it doesn’t quite give voice to the full emotion. Her fingers curl inward like claws, though her nails, bitten down to the quick, aren’t long enough to draw blood from her palm.

Camilla is staring at her. It’s the tired, hard stare of someone who has given up wondering what the hell is going to happen next. Harrow resents it, even as she knows she’s approaching that same state herself. Canaan House has hollowed them all out, and even as a black vestal she’s had her fill of secrets now. 

She can only imagine how a scion of the Sixth must feel.

“You didn’t have to do that to her.” Harrow surprises herself with the cold, brittle snap of her words as she gathers her robe and the last shreds of her dignity about her. “She’s not going to rest until he forgives her or kills her or something else does for them both.”

Camilla raises an eyebrow.

“It’s how her heart works.” Harrow snaps, turning on her heel to fetch that ridiculous sword. She’s going to kill Nav for this. The sword _and_ the thrice damned Feelings Conversation.

Something keeps nagging her, though, some small needle that’s digging into her every time she looks at Camilla and remembers the tone of her revelations. The exasperation, and the knife edge that tips between frustration and... something else. 

Harrow knows that tone.

She’s used it herself.

“You listened to her.” Harrow doesn’t know how to be delicate with this. That part of her was strangled in the crib. “You lost him and you listened to her rather than go and see him with Dulcinea.”

Camilla’s eyes flick towards her, deadly under the sharp angle of her fringe.

“Gideon told me to look after you.”

“You’re his cavalier.” Harrow waves a hand, dismissive. “And we both know I’m fine on my own.”

Camilla snorts. Harrow chooses to ignore it, pretending to do something complicated with the wards on their room before kicking through the false bottom on Gideon’s trunk. The wood splinters satisfyingly under her heel, though the relief is, of course, temporary.

“Is this the part where the nun gives me relationship advice?” Camilla’s voice is full of barbs, catching on her throat because Harrow knows this is not something that they should be talking about, or thinking, ever. 

“He doesn’t need me for what he’s doing.”

There is a strain of bitterness in that statement so pure, and so unlike what she knows of Camilla Hect, that Harrow’s breath is momentarily knocked from her. Her hand closes, reflexively, around the hilt of Gideon’s sword, the worn leather of the hilt almost like skin under her fingers. It smells of oil, and leather, and Gideon, and it makes her heart ache with pure and naked want. 

Someone less acquainted with need would mistake Camilla’s statement for envy. Holding the sword, Harrow knows there’s only one reason Camilla would choose not to be at Palamedes’ side. One reason he would send her away.

In the distance, they hear a low, muffled thump.

She hauls the two-hander up examines herself, pinched and streaked with blood sweat, in its blade. Camilla is a statue behind her, and Harrow knows that she is already grieving.


End file.
